


Backfired

by Malcontent_Ash



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Accidental Incest, Awkwardness, Gabriel Being Gabriel, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Pre-Apocalypse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-22
Updated: 2016-05-22
Packaged: 2018-06-10 01:47:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6932932
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Malcontent_Ash/pseuds/Malcontent_Ash
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam Wesson and Dean Smith find themselves drawn to each other.  Sam and Dean Winchester deal with the consequences of an accidental fling.</p><p>This is the story of the last time Gabriel made the mistake of trying to teach Sam  a lesson about his codependent relationship with his brother.  Everyone learns something.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

         It seemed to Sam Wesson that he’d spent his entire life so far in a 6x6’ gray cubicle.  Unfortunately, if his performance reviews were any indication, he wasn’t moving up in the world any time soon.  The walls were a dull grayish off-white and the carpeting was the kind of depressing speckled pattern engineered to never look dirty.  The lights were stark white fluorescents and beneath them Sam swore that if he looked out of the corner of his eye everything was in grayscale.  That is, except for his gender neutral nursery yellow uniform which had a tag which somehow itched even more since he tried to cut it. 

         In short, everything in Sam’s life since dropping out of Stanford had been flat and dull.  The more he tried to think about it though, the less he could recall.  His most vivid memory was of Jess and the color of her eyes and the soft floral scent of her perfume. 

         Officially, he was a software analyst and technical assistant for one of the many faceless megacorps he’d worked for in the last six years.  In reality, he was on-call 10 hours a day 5 days a week to answer the questions of business execs who couldn’t operate a google search but still made a conservative ten times his annual salary.  His dad had always told him that he’d never amount to anything without a college degree, but somehow that never seemed true until Jessica dumped him.

         In an effort to shake off that thought, Sam peeked over his cubicle and into one of the adjacent cubes.  Next to him was his co-worker, and reluctantly _friend_ , Ian.  Ian was also a college drop-out, though Sam had gotten the impression that he’d been asked to leave after some creative programming of his entered the grading system.  He was also pretty sure Ian stole office supplies when no one was looking.  The guy was certifiable as both a genius and a slovenly man-child.  He’d been inviting Sam over for drinks for the past couple months, but as an act of careful timing Sam had remained too busy. 

          “Dude,” Ian called, tossing a paperclip which bounced off Sam’s head.  “Samm-o.  Check it.”  A fuzzy mess of hair peeked over the edge of his cube.  Sam momentarily feigned reluctance by moving the mouse around a clicking a couple times before gobbling up the opportunity for entertainment.  Ian has open an excel document with a pain-stakingly constructed pixel art of Duke Nukem. 

         “Very nice, Ian,” Sam compliments flatly.  Ian nods, satisfied, and looks back at Sam. 

         “I’m losin’ it.  Today’s the day.  I’m thinking I’ll throw my chair through a window and follow it out.  What do you think?”  Sam looked at the window with a pensive frown. 

         “Ten points for melodrama, but if you could angle it somehow to land on Adler’s new car, I think we could do tens across the board.”  Ian nods sagely in response.

         “You’re a wise man, Sam.” 

         Sam nods once before sitting back down and picking up his phone which had been ringing for the last three minutes.

         “ _Thank you for calling Sandover Bridge & Iron Inc. Tech Department.  This is Sam.”  _Every time he said it he could feel himself die a little inside.

 

         It was still an hour until Sam could take his lunch break so he resolved himself to a very long bathroom/coffee break on the third floor.  His boss had learned all of his favorite hiding spots in the building and Ian swore that the exec floors had better coffee.  He headed toward the stairwell to avoid possible confrontation with Mr. Adler.

         If nothing else, Ian was right about the upstairs breakrooms being cushier.  Sam poured himself a cup of coffee and watched the weather report on a flatscreen TV mounted in the corner. 

         _And it looks like we’ll have rainy weather for the rest of the week._

         _That’s too bad Michael.  In other news…_

         Sam couldn’t remember the last time they had good weather.  He topped off his cup off again with whatever fancy roast the execs were getting and headed off.  Across the hall he could see a young man talking on the phone.  He was tall, though probably nowhere near Sam, and broad shouldered and wore a nice blue collared shirt which made Sam’s tag itch with a vengeance.  Sam watched him for a moment, killing time between now and lunch, when the man turned around and noticed that Sam was staring.  Sam smiled in a way he hoped seemed not weird but friendly and the man just scowled at him and closed his blinds.  _What an asshole,_ Sam thought, neutrally taking a spiteful gulp of the coffee from the man’s breakroom. 

 

          “ _Sammy!”_ The voice was behind him and it sounded frantic bordering on hoarse.  Sam tried to turn around but his body felt like lead and every movement seemed to take days.  His feet were heavy and he was so tired.  He could feel a stabbing pain in his shoulder.

         _“Sam!”_ It was closer now, almost behind him and Sam flinched.  He could feel strong hands gripping his shoulders and turning him around.  The face was all wide eyes and parted lips.  He had surprisingly delicate features and it took Sam a moment to see that he was covered in blood.  _Holy shit._   He recoiled but those firm hands held tight, jostling him.

          “C’mon, Sam!”  The man had slapped him on the cheek and he woke with a start, muscles tired and aching.  He tore off a sweat-soaked shirt and fumbled for his phone.  _6:43._ He still had a couple minutes until his alarm went off.  He turned over, pulling damp sheets back around his shoulders and nodding off to sleep.

 

         The dreams became a regular occurrence after that.  Every night for a week he saw the same face, shaking him, grabbing him.  They were both covered in blood but Sam realized on a particularly bad night, it usually wasn’t their own.  He’d watched in shocked horror as he man had taken a _machete_ and hacked a person’s head off.  The hot splatter across his cheek had ripped him awake, legs wrapped tight in his sheets. 

         One night he’d wrestled with the man, trying to run from some unknown terror fast on their heels and the man had looked at him with this disappointed look that made something deep inside Sam _click._

 

         Sam stumbled into work late one morning after he’d watched someone with black eyes tear a woman apart with their bare hands before turning to smoke.  The dreams were becoming more vivid and he could still hear the woman’s screams and the sound of all that black dust shooting out of its body.  He slumped into his chair, trying to forget the way the jagged knife had felt in his hand as he watched.

          “Holy shit dude.  You look terrible.”  Ian was leaning against their adjoining wall.

          “Thanks _Ian,”_ he spat, booting up his computer.  It hummed to life.

          “Yeah well, you’re welcome.  Are you sick or something?”  Ian was studying him with something as close as Ian could manage to genuine emotion so Sam relented.

          “No, I’m fine.  Just been having weird dreams lately.”  He opened his emails from last night and sighed.  _You have 82 new messages._

          “Weird dreams?”  Ian huffed and came over to Sam’s cube when he didn’t respond.  “C’mon, you can’t just leave it at that.  What kind of dreams are keeping my darling Sam up past his bedtime?”  Sam shot him a pinched look which Ian had become immune to over the last eleven months.

          “They’re just…  This is going to sound really weird, but I keep dreaming about this guy.”  Sam’s turned to look at him now, and seeing the look on Ian’s face he immediately regrets saying anything.

         Ian leans forward and whispers conspiratorially, “ _Does he touch you_?”  Sam growls and throws a plastic spoon from yesterday’s lunch which bounced off Ian’s nose as he flinched.

          “No, okay?  I can’t explain it.  Last week I saw him outside the upstairs breakroom and I keep seeing his face like I know it.”

          “ _Is_ it a gay thing?”

          “ _Dude.”_ Sam turns around, pretending to be working when their boss walks by.  Adler shoots him a nasty look over his cube which he’s “too busy” to notice.

          “I’m not judging,” his co-worker promises.  Sam just sighs.

          “I don’t know why I even said anything.” 

          “C’mon.  I’ll make it up to you.  You said he works in the office by the breakroom, right?”  Sam keeps ignoring him, pointedly typing a little louder than usual.  “His name’s Dean.”  The name hits Sam like a physical force.

          “Haha!  I knew that’d cheer you up.  Dean Smith.  He replaced the old marketing director.  Youngest ever I think.”  Sam thinks about the way the blue collared shirt had been tight around the man’s, _Dean’s_ shoulders and somehow the look he’d gotten seems a lot less irritating. 

         Sam makes it a point to head up to the upstairs breakroom not more than once a week.  It’s hard not to stare, but sometimes Dean leaves his door open and he can listen to _the voice_.

        

         _“Derek, you know we can’t make any adjustments like that post production.  If you want to submit any changes they’ll have to be in Friday.”  A pause, and he laughs gentler than Sam was expecting.  “Well I’m sure you can take that out on me on this course this weekend.  Yeah, mkay.  Tell the missus I said hi.”_

         Sam ducks around the corner, refilling his cup for the third time despite the jitters starting in his hands.  He waits until he hears the door shut before sneaking back downstairs.

 

         It’s four weeks before Sam has the courage to try and talk to him.  He waits in the breakroom watching commercials with an ear trained on the door across the hall.  When it opens he counts to five before following Dean down the hall to the elevator.  Dean shoots him a look over his shoulder when he notices the hideous yellow shirt in the corner of his vision.  The elevator pings open and Sam follows Dean in.

         Standing in the stale elevator air listening to Dean breathe, Sam wonders if maybe this is another one of his cataclysmically terrible ideas.  He glances over at Dean only to find that the other man is already watching him from the corner of his eye.

          “Uh.  Hi.  I’m Sam.”  Sam reaches out a hand toward Dean who just looks between it and Sam’s face with a consternated expression.

          “Can I help you?”  Dean folds his arms defensively and Sam tries not to notice the way the fabric creases tight around his forearms. 

          “I feel like I know you from somewhere.  Do you ever get that feeling?”  Sam’s kicking himself for it as soon as it’s out and the look Dean gives him makes him feel a little sick.  _Disappointed._

          “That’s a terrible pick up line.”  Dean shifts away from him a little more and Sam’s face catches flame.

          “No, I didn’t…  I just…”  Sam runs his hands through his hair and sighs in a way that leave him a little boneless.  “This is going to sound crazy.”  _The look_ somehow gets worse.  “I’m pretty sure I know you from somewhere.  I haven’t figured out where, but ever since I saw you I keep dreaming about you.”  _In for a penny, right?_   “And I know you.  We… fought together.” 

          “Fought each other?”  Dean frowns, pressing the ground floor button again a little harder than necessary.  He tries not to notice the sasquatch looming next to him. 

          “No, we…”  Sam’s voice gets quiet enough that Dean has to hold his breath to catch it.  “We fought monsters.”  And Sam, as hard as he’s trying, he knows what that sounds like, and he’s just hoping and praying that Dean doesn’t call the police.  The elevator doors open and to Sam’s surprise, Dean doesn’t bolt.  Instead he just stares as Sam, eyes narrowed and head cocked to the side and being on the other side of that look feels a little too much like coming home.

          “What kind of monsters?”

 

         They stood in the parking lot and Sam told Dean about vampires and demons and werewolves.  He does his best to avoid telling Dean about how often he sees them together covered in blood or worse, and instead sticks to details about the fangs and the black smoke.  Dean looks shaken, but he’s still listening, which is more than Sam could have hoped. 

          “And ghosts?”  Dean’s leaning against his car now.  It’s a sleek black thing and seeing Dean casually leaned against it hits Sam square in the guts with another _click._

          “Ghosts, poltergeists, these things that are like werewolves but not, and something that wears people’s skins and then sheds them like a snake.  There’s so many of them.  It’s like every time I dream it’s something else.”  To Sam’s surprise, Dean just nods.  Sam clears his throat.  “H-Have you…?” 

          “I dream about something.  I’m… not really sure what it is yet.”  In his mind’s eye he can see inhumanly blue eyes.  Sam sighs, running his fingers through his hair. 

          “Thanks for not… calling the cops.  I know how bad that sounded.”  To his surprised, Dean’s smiling a little.

          “Don’t get me wrong.  I totally thought you were some kind of stalker, the way you keep hanging around my office.”  Sam opens his mouth.  “Come on, Sam.  Once a week, every week?”

          “I was trying to be subtle.”  He feels huge, like he’s looming over the smaller man. 

          “You’re pretty hard to miss.”  There’s something soft about the way he says it that hits Sam square in the chest.  Dean clears his throat, fishing his keys out of the pocket of his dress pants and suddenly Sam is desperate to make him stay.

          “I,” he starts, leaning a little bit into Dean’s face.  Dean’s eyes are incredibly green under the parking lot’s flood lights.  He can feel the warm touch of the other man’s breath, fast against his lips.  He knows he’s pushing his luck, and his gut is tight anticipating some form of retaliation but it hasn’t come.  Dean’s looking up at him with this shocked expression, lips parted and the gentle bow of his top lip is intoxicatingly feminine.  Sam’s barely breathing when he brushes their lips together for the smallest instant.

          “Oh jeez.  S-Sorry.”  Sam’s stepping back, noticing Dean’s hand in a white-knuckled grip around his car keys.  “That wasn’t—“  Dean cuts him off with a curt nod before taking refuge in his car and Sam walks away, pretending his didn’t hear the doors lock. 

 

         That night he dreams about Dean holding his face in his hands.  Sam can feel pain like he’d never imagined before tearing through his back and Dean’s propping him up in his arms.  His palms are calloused and rough against his cheeks, but Dean’s turning his head gently.  It’s so cold.

          “ _Sam.  Stay with me, Sammy.”_

         He has to run to the bathroom when he wakes up, suddenly sick.

         The bathroom tile is cold comfort on the balls of his feet, and he sees himself in the mirror and hardly recognizes himself.  His skin is almost gray and covered in a sheen of sour sweat.  His eyes are red rimmed framed by thumbprint size bruises under each.  He’s still shaking when his alarm starts buzzing muted in his bedroom and he flushes the toilet and turns to silence it.  He calls Mr. Adler, feeling a little grateful despite himself that he doesn’t have to go back to work on the off chance he might run into Dean, or worse, seek him out.  He untangles his sheets from where he’d kicked half of them off the bed and reluctantly lies back down.

 

         Dean awakens with a shout, fighting with his blankets in a blind panic.  He can still see it etched on his eyelids when he closes his eyes.  He can see the moment the knife jerks into Sam’s body.  The soft look of shock.  He’s there before Sam hits the ground.  God, there’s… he can’t believe how much blood there is.  It’s dark and he can’t see most of it, but he can feel it coat his hand when he touches Sam’s back.  He’s kneeling in it and he can feel the life leaving Sam in his arms and he’s shaking again like he’s going to be sick. 

         He scrubs his face with cold water from the sink and heads to work.

 

         Sam isn’t at work when Dean asks, and he’s still missing the next day.  It sends a flair of irritation hot through Dean’s chest that Sam could be calling off work to avoid him.  The third day that Sam’s missing, Dean feels a little tight and panicky.  The dreams have gotten worse since Sam kissed him and every night is a new, unbelievably vivid horror.  _He can feel the earth itself shaking beneath him and unbelievable searing white light pouring from the ground.  Sam is with him and he’s shaking like a leaf, face slack with panic.  They can feel it—something ancient and evil crawling its way out of the ground almost deafeningly loud._   _Sam.  SAM!_

         Aggravated, Dean goes to Sam’s workstation to check if he’s been in and Dean just hasn’t noticed.  He knows Sam works in the tech department because of his tacky yellow uniform, and he heads toward an empty cube.  There’s nothing on the desk other than a four foot long chain of paperclips and Sam’s telemarketer headset.  A squirrely little man with a mop of dark hair and a ratty old band t-shirt pops his head over the cubicle wall.  He gives Dean a startled look before sinking back down to his desk and poking at the keyboard a little too loudly. 

          “Where’s Sam?”  Dean leans over the cubicle wall, curious at the way the lanky little man recoils.

          “Sick.  He’s out sick.”  Ian won’t even look at him, and Dean wonders if maybe Sam and Ian are close.

          “This is the third day.  Has he called you?”  Dean, if he was being honest with himself, would notice the way he was leaning in a little too close, a little menacingly, and acknowledge the small twinge of pleasure he got from the look on the man’s face.  Ian looked up at him, finally.

          “No.  He normally never takes sick days.  I honestly thought…”  Dean raises an eyebrow and Ian’s face rearranges in a way Dean can’t read.  “It’s got to be pretty bad.  He came in one time with pneumonia because Adler said he was out of sick days.  I’m pretty sure he wasn’t even out,” Ian muttered darkly, sending terrible thoughts toward Mr. Adler.

          “Do you have a phone number or a home address?”  Dean watched as Ian scribbled down Sam’s information with a weird smile.  _Freakin’ weirdo._ Dean crumpled it into his pocket and took the rest of the day off.

         Dean sat in his car in the parking lot for several minutes, hands resting unmoving on the steering wheel.  With a final huff of frustration, he fished the scrap of paper out of his pocket and smoothed it flat against the surface of the horn.  He pulled out his phone and dialed.

 

         Irritated, Dean pulled out of the lot.  Sam.  This unbelievable mess of a human being drops into his life and now he’s what?  Taking off work to see if he’s alive?  It shouldn’t matter.  It really shouldn’t matter, but Dean can’t erase the look he’d seen in Sam’s eyes as he’d pulled back.  Even partially obscured by the glare of a streetlamp, the look had been devastating.  Dean drove to the address, chasing that tender expression as much as the man himself.

         Checking the apartment number twice, Dean knocks.  It’s nearly noon now, and there’s a long pause before Dean here movement inside.  The door swings in and Dean is looking up at Sam.  He’s wearing a stretched out T-shirt and sleep pants that cling a little too tight around his hips.  Sam looked down at him shocked, and Dean could see deep purple pressed like fingerprints under each of Sam’s eyes.  Sam brushed his hair messily out of his face.

         “Dean?” he asked, looking down the hall for a moment and then back at Dean.  “What are you doing here?”  Dean sighs a little, turning his head so he’s not looking directly into Sam’s face. 

         “You look like shit.”  Sam’s laugh comes as a surprise.  It’s rich and warm and as ruinous as the tender look on Sam’s face had been.  “Can I come in?” 

         Sam takes a step back, surprised and Dean steps in.  Sam’s apartment is almost bare, with only a few wadded up shirts on the floor and a stack of books to indicate someone lived in it at all.  Sam kicked one aside and with no more than two steps out of the doorway they were standing in the living room.  It was barely more than a studio with only two doors leading away.  The door to Sam’s bedroom was hanging open and he could see a mattress and box springs on a simple steel framed bed, blankets tangled and kicked off onto the floor.

         Sam’s watching Dean take in his underwhelming apartment. 

         “Did you just move in?” Dean asks and Sam gives him a guilty look. 

         “Uh, no.”  The moment grows a little awkward.  Dean picks up a T-shirt hanging off the back of Sam’s threadbare couch and sits. 

         “You should shower.  Have you eaten?”  Dean can’t help himself, something about seeing Sam like this… It made Dean want to _take care_ of him.  Sam just gave him a tired shrug. 

         “I haven’t been feeling well.”  Dean rolled his eyes, waving Sam away to shower while he pulled out his phone. 

         “Do you like pizza?”

 

         They ate pizza sitting on the couch while watching a marathon of Alien vs Predator airing on the Sci-Fi channel.  Sam’s TV had been something salvaged from his roommate in college and it had taken no small effort on Sam’s part to lug the giant hunk of metal and plastic up the stairs and onto a rickety little table in front of the couch.  Dean was warm comfort beside him on the couch and the hunger he hadn’t felt for the last couple days came rushing back.  Dean is leaning back into the couch, ignoring the way Sam’s eyes keep catching his out of the corner of his eye. 

         “What do you think they mean, Sam?” Dean asks, talking over a commercial break.  Dean’s rolled up his shirtsleeves and loosened his tie enough that Sam can see the long, pale column of his throat. 

         “The dreams?” Sam asks, and Dean nods. 

         After the last dream, Sam no longer wants to talk about them.  He’d seen himself, felt like himself, and what he’d done… what he’d been able to do...  It had felt so real.  There was something wrong inside him, and the last person he wanted to know was Dean.  Dean was watching him closely now.

         “They feel real,” Sam said quietly, and Dean nodded.  Dean had seen more, and felt more in the last couple nights than he could remember.  His own life now seemed almost monochromatic in comparison. 

         They let the moment pass.  The 2004 reboot was coming on, and neither of them really wanted to watch it.  Instead, they talked over the movie and Dean told Sam about his favorite movies and music.  To his surprise, Sam recognized them all and argued with him about most of them.   Conversation came easily between them now that Dean was lying on Sam’s couch, debating whether he could eat another slice of cool pizza sitting in an open box on the floor between their feet.  It was dark by the time Dean tore himself away, watching Sam rub at the fatigue masking his face.  Sam walked him over to the door and Dean turned to look at him. 

         Sam leaned against the doorframe watching him with the door half closed.  “What?” Sam asked, seeing Dean eying him with something like an edge.  Dean gave him a sly look.

         “You’re not even going to try your luck?”  Sam smiled at him, surprised and leaned forward to brush his lips softly across Dean’s cheek by way of goodnight.  Instead, Dean turned to meet him.  The first meeting of their lips was like wildfire, screaming across Sam’s chest.  He tugged Dean back inside, kicking the door shut with his heel, unwilling to tear himself away.  Dean was electric energy and constant movement, pulling Sam close with fingers woven tightly into his hair.  Sam pushed him back against the door, boxing him in against it and Dean pushed back, pressing himself against Sam from chest to erection.  With a slight roll of his hips, Sam rolled against it as Dean tore at the buttons of Sam’s shirt. 

         Taking the hint, Sam shucks of his own shirt and carries Dean back to the couch.  Dean lands beneath him with the air knocked out of his chest and Sam’s positioned between Dean’s legs, rubbing hard against him.  Dean smirks up at him and Sam loses his rhythm for a moment, shocked by the familiarity of those green eyes.  Dean reached down between them and undid Sam’s pants, pulling him out and fisting him with a firm grip.  Sam’s huge in his hands and he looks down a little surprised by the way he can’t wrap his fingers all the way around it.  Sam shudders above him, pressing his mouth against Dean’s neck while reaching down and undoing his fly.  Dean lets him and Sam fists them together for a while until Sam’s groaning above him.

         “C-Can I?”  He slips his hands under the waist of Dean’s slacks and Dean arches up so that Sam can slip them off his hips.  Sam stares at Dean and Dean is pinned open by the stare, like Sam’s looking into him.

         “You’re so beautiful,” Sam breathes, transfixed.  Dean grabs his neck and pulls him back down until Sam’s rubbing against his naked skin.  Sam grabs the tight bulge of his ass and hikes it up until his dick is cradled in the cleft.  Dean groans, fisting himself with one hand and holding the arm of the couch with the other.  He can feel precum from the tip of Sam’s dick and he rocks against the thick heft of it.  Sam watches him, sucking his fingers into his mouth before running a wet fingertip around the soft puckered skin of Dean’s ass.  It’s a shock of sensation Dean wasn’t expecting and he tenses, surprised.  Just like the rest of him, Sam’s finger is long and thick and it burns as it slides slowly past the tight ring.  Sam’s eyes are transfixed on Dean’s the wet heat sucks at his finger.  Dean’s flushed beneath him, stroking himself and watching the open expression on Sam’s face. 

         “Let me…”  Sam twists the finger a little to help it slide free and he leaves Dean for a moment to get something from his room.  Dean’s cold and a little self-conscious with the sudden loss, but Sam returns with a tube of lube with a little already warming on his fingers, and a condom.  He strokes the flushed skin with a fingertip again to spread some of the lube before pressing his finger back inside.  Dean lets out a small hurt noise as the finger slides home.  It’s deeper than it was before, and Dean’s still a little shocked by how _big_ Sam is.  He worries for a moment but as second finger is pressing inside and he relaxes as they work together to coax him open.  Sam watches his hand transfixed as his two fingers work inside Dean’s tight ass.  It’s a tantalizing pink and Sam can feel his dick jerk as it sucks a little at his fingers. 

         Dean strokes himself as Sam works, letting out soft moans whenever Sam’s fingers brush his prostate.  The uncomfortable stretch soon becomes welcome as Sam works carefully into him and Dean presses down on Sam’s fingers until he presses a third inside.  Dean feels stretched tight, skewered open by Sam’s practiced touch.  He’s desperately hard by the time Sam rips open the condom and rolls it down his massive cock.  Even the head shocks Dean a little as it nudges at Dean’s slick entrance.  It’s impossibly thick and Sam has to work slowly, rolling his hips gently against Dean until the tip can finally slip inside.  Dean’s gripping the couch with both hands as Sam works himself in slowly with one hand wrapped around Dean’s erection.  He strokes Dean with a loose fist, not nearly enough for Dean, but enough to keep him relaxed and calm as Sam slides home.  It punches the air out of Dean and Sam’s rubbing his thighs and ass comfortingly.

         “So good, Dean.  You feel so tight.”  Sam grips his hips in massive hands and pulls them up a little until Sam’s angled up inside of him. 

         “Nnngghh,” Dean closes his eyes and throws his head back, feeling a shock of pleasure from the pressure of Sam’s cock sitting deep inside him.  Satisfied, Sam moves against Dean, holding him up against him by the globes of his ass.  Sam rolls back in, and Dean grips the arm of the couch over his head so hard he’s scared it might break.  Sam’s body covers his and Dean pushes up until he’s rubbing himself against the carved muscles of Sam’s stomach.  Finding a rhythm, Sam pounds into him relentlessly, almost bludgeoning Dean’s prostate.

         “Oh fuck.  Fuck… _Sam.”_ Sam watches him hungrily as he works, taking in the pink flush coating Dean’s delicate cheekbones and the wet part of his full lips.  Dean’s unlike anything Sam’s seen, face rapt with pleasure as Sam thrusts into him hard enough that they shift the couch.

         “Dean.  God, Dean.  You’re so good.”  Sam’s breathing it against Dean’s lips as he presses their foreheads together.  Dean’s body jerks against the couch with each thrust. 

        “Hngg,” Dean huffs, soft moans punched of his body as Sam pounds in.  Sam’s fisting him quickly while Dean shakes apart.

         “S-Sam,” he groans, mouth going slack as he shudders against Sam and paints his chest and Sam’s hand with thick cum.  Sam lets out a soft, hurt sound feeling Dean tighten around him and he thrusts deep, shooting into the condom. 

         “God.  Oh God…” Sam’s muttering under his breath as he makes several aborted thrusts before pulling out.  Sam doesn’t say anything for a while and Dean’s lying flat across the couch feeling his cum cooling on heated skin.  He feels boneless as he watches Sam tie off the condom and toss it.

         “ _Wow.”_ Dean hasn’t moved for several seconds and Sam sits on the floor leaning his back against the couch.  He can feel the couch move slightly as Sam’s shoulders shake with a laugh.

         “Yeah,” he agrees, a little breathy.  Sam’s head is resting against Dean’s arm as it spills over the couch when they hear a third voice.

         “ _Holy shit_.”  Sam startles at the sound, grabbing his pants off the floor to cover himself when he sees the man standing several feet away.  Dean’s head jerks up and he backs up until he’s sitting a little more on the couch.

         “Who the hell are you?”  Sam’s shouting, angry but he doesn’t move closer to confront the smaller man.

         “Let me start out by saying, _wow.”_ Sam throws Dean his slacks and they’re tugging them on as the man waves his hands toward them in an all-encompassing gesture.  “Here I was wondering nature or nurture and it looks like today’s only winner was Freud.”  Sam reaches for the lamp on the end table and walks menacingly toward the intruder who gives him a disappointed look and snaps his fingers.

         Suddenly they’re both dressed and sitting across from each other in a boardroom at Sandover Bridge & Iron Inc.  Dean’s wearing a navy suit with a dark red tie and Sam’s sitting across from him looking shocked in his itchy yellow uniform.  Sitting at the head of the table in a sharp three piece suit sits the intruder.  Dean stands suddenly causing his chair to fall to the floor.  His fists are clenched tight and his heart is pounding so hard in his chest so hard it hurts to breathe. 

         “Woah, hey now,” holds his hands out soothingly and something about the gesture seems really familiar to Sam.  Gabriel shoots each of them a slightly wide-eyed look.  “Honestly, I’m just as surprised as you are right now.  Okay, maybe a little less surprised but _wow.”_ He breathes the word like it’s been punched out of him.  “Things got a little biblical at the end there.”  Dean watches Sam’s expression as it slowly dawns with horrified recognition. 

         “ _Gabriel?”_ Sam’s hyperventilating a little bit.  “What the _fuck!?”_ Gabriel looks a little sad for a moment, but covers it neatly with a smirk.

         “Dean’s still a little slow on the uptake I see.”  With a snap of his fingers, Dean’s mind shoots white and he grabs his head in pain. 

         When his eyes open again he stares horrified between Sam and Gabriel.  Sam’s got his hands around Gabriel’s throat and he’s shaking him with an absolutely livid expression on his face. 

         “Look like,” Gabriel huffs a little through Sam’s stranglehold, “you boys have a lot to talk about.”  With a snap he fades like smoke between Sam’s fingers and they’re dropped back at the motel they’d been in before all of this started.  Sam’s staring where Gabriel was with a panicked expression and Dean’s already moving behind him shoving things into his bag. 

         “D-Dean…” Sam turns slowly to face his brother but Dean doesn’t pause, shoving a T-shirt that had fallen to the floor into his bag with a lot more force than necessary.  “Dean we need…”  Sam sits on the edge of his bed, rubbing his hands over his face.  Dean rushes for the door and slams it behind him leaving Sam sitting shell-shocked in their motel room.

 

         Six hours later Bobby answered the door, shotgun in hand and stepped back to allow Dean to push past him.

         “ _Dean?_ ”  It’s past midnight and Dean looks like shit.  He won’t even look at Bobby.  “Where the hell is Sam?”  Dean shoots him a tired look.        

         “He’s okay.  We got whammied.  _Bad_.”  Bobby drops the sawed off onto the couch. 

         “You wanna talk about it?”

         “ _No.”_   Dean holds his bag tight to himself and pounds up the stairs two at a time.


	2. Chapter 2

         Sam’s back in the hotel room taking fortifying breaths when he hears the sound of wing beats. 

 

         “I’m sure Dean’s off somewhere having a heterosexual crisis, so I figured we could talk.”  Gabriel looked around the motels room, frowning at the stained teal wallpaper.  “Honestly, I can’t help but feeling a _tiiiny_ , bit responsible for what happened.” 

         “You think?  God, I just,” Sam scraped his nails down his face.  “Why didn’t you… I don’t know, intervene or something?” 

         “First of all, hellooo…  Trickster?”  Gabriel paused, smirk sliding off his face.  “Seriously though, I didn’t plan for that to happen, but  once it did…It seemed like the best way to get my point across.”

         “And what’s that?” Sam huffed hotly, crossing his arms and taking a step closer so that he could loom over Gabriel a little bit.  The trickster’s eyes just narrowed and he glared up at Sam. 

         “You’re _too_ close.  You and Dean, you…”  Gabriel made aborted movements with his hands, “You’re so _wrapped up_ in each other that you can’t even tell that you’re full steam ahead toward being worn to the prom.  And I tried it the other way.  I killed Dean over and over and over.  And every. single. time, I swear it was like trying to get through solid brick.  Let him _go,_ Sam!” 

         “He’s _gone!”_ Sam shouted, throwing his hands up. _“_ Problem solved, right?  He’s... he’s never going to look at me again.”  Gabriel gave him a peculiar look.

         “…for everyone’s sake, I really hope you’re right.”  He disappeared in the instant Sam blinked.  And Sam crawled on top of the motel bed, face stuffed into the pillow.

         The worst part was, he wasn’t all that angry.  Dean would probably never speak to him again, but Sam couldn’t shrug off his own responsibility.  As fucked up as it was, Gabriel didn’t make him do anything.    He couldn’t really blame Gabriel or Dean or himself.  All he could do was wait and hope that Dean could move past it.

 

 

         Bobby called him a week later.  Sam had finally gotten a rental car and he was headed south.  He didn’t have any leads yet, but the lines on the road gave him something to think about for a while.  He dug his phone out of his pocket.

         “Hello?”

         “Goddamnit, Sam.” For a moment Sam’s stomach dropped to the floor.  “What the hell happened to you boys?  Dean’s half way through my liquor.”  He grumbled the last part with vindication.

         “We… ah,” Sam straightened out the wheel a little and adjusted the phone on his ear.  “We ran into Gabriel.”

         “The trickster?” 

         “Yeah.  Things got… pretty not good.  Just give Dean a little more time and I’m sure he’ll be out of your hair.”  He could hear Bobby grumble something on the other line.

         “And what about you?  Are you messed up half as bad as he is?”  For some reason the question seemed a little loaded, but prolonged exposure to Bobby had left Sam with pretty thick skin.

         “I’ll be fine.  Dean’s got credit, right?”  Sam had used one of their shared cards to rent the car.

         “Yeah, but he’s not using it.  He won’t even go on a beer run.  What’s goin’ on?  Is this some kind of fight?” 

         “Not really.  Just-- Give him some extra slack for a while.” 

         “Yeah, okay,” grumbled Bobby bitterly.  “I’m not sure how much I can help with both of you so tight lipped about it.”

         “Thanks Bobby.  I’m glad he’s with you.” 

 

 

 

 

 

         The silence is finally broken almost two weeks later when Dean has to call to check where Sam is because Bobby refuses to pass messages between them.

 

          “Hey.” 

          “Dean!  Are you alright?”

          “Yeah.  I was just... making sure you’re okay.  Bobby says he hasn’t heard from you in a while.”  _Bobby’s a liar._ Sam can hear the implication.  Bobby must have given Dean the impression that something was wrong. 

          “Yeah.  I’ve been busy.”  _I’m a liar._

          “Hunt?”  It was a safe topic, and Dean jumped into it headfirst. 

          “Probably not, but I thought I’d check it out just in case.”  Sam was checking up on a hokey town legend to kill some time.  “Are you still at Bobby’s?” 

          “No.  I’m chasing a lead.”

          “That’s good.”  Traveling and living together, silences had come easy to Sam and Dean but now every silence was a roadblock.  Sam tried three different approaches in his head before anything came out and he hated it, but maybe that was Gabriel’s plan in the first place.  They’d certainly gained some distance over the last couple weeks.

          “For what it’s worth,” Sam can hear Dean groan loudly over the other end.  “I’m sorry.  It wasn’t a choice we made, but I’m still sorry it happened.”

          “Yeah well, I’m doing my best to forget.”  Dean’s voice is rough and Sam can imagine Dean’s got a bottle of something strong near him.  “But what about you?  You seem weirdly calm about all of this.”  Sam tried not to let that feel like an accusation.  He sighed.

          “I guess… I’m still upset with Gabriel, and with myself, but given time to think about it, the last time the trickster tried to teach me something you died in my arms every day for three and a half months.  We both walked away from this one.”  Sam had always been more eloquent than Dean, and Dean could feel the ball back in his court. 

          “You sound tired.” 

         Sam laughed lightly on the other line.  “Yeah, I’m sure that’s part of it too.  It’s been a long year for me.”

          “Y’know I don’t remember any of that.”  Dean sounds like he regrets it too.  Like he’s guilty for leaving all of that on Sam’s doorstep.

          “I know.  I think both times were supposed to be lessons for me.  He actually showed up in the motel afterward.”

          “Seriously?  _Why?”_

          “He wanted to apologize, I think.  He spent more time yelling at me though.”  Dean chuckled a little and it warmed Sam. 

          “Sam… The lead I got is in Bennington.  Kansas.” 

          “Thanks Dean.”

          “Just give me a call when you’re in the area.”

 

         They try to work the case like any other only now Sam is focused on keeping a careful distance between them.  The look Dean gives him when their elbows accidentally brush sets his teeth on edge.  The easy synchronization is lost to them now and Dean lashes out when they reach the motel. 

          “Dean,” Sam sighs exasperated and it only makes Dean angrier.  “I’m trying, okay?  Can you just relax?”  Dean’s working over his gun in small jerky motions.

          “How am I supposed to relax with you looming over me all the time?”  Dean’s settled on the edge of his bed, keeping a healthy six feet of distance between himself and the heat radiating off Sam’s skin. 

          “Why are you angry with me, Dean?”  Sam takes a small step toward him and Dean skewers him with a look. 

          “It’s everything, Sam.  All of this.”  Dean keeps his hands moving, eyes focused on the piece in his hands so that he doesn’t have to see the soft almost scared look in Sam’s eyes.  He’s anticipating rejection, waiting for Dean to tell him to leave like a blow to the gut.  Dean doesn’t.

          “So we work through it,” Sam says like a soft promise and sour self-loathing crawls up Dean’s throat.

          “You don’t just _work through_ finding out that you’d play bitch for your brother.”  Dean jerks the slide back on his pistol, feeling the satisfying jerk as it lurches forward again.  The look Sam’s giving him is almost tangible in the air. 

          “ _That’s_ what’s bothering you?” Sam asks, taking a purposeful step toward Dean.  Dean looks up, finally and his eyes are spitting fire. 

          “There isn’t a part of… of _that_ that isn’t bothering me,” Dean growls and Sam fights the unreasonable urge to roll his eyes and pull his hair. 

          “Dean, we weren’t us, okay?  I was Sam something whatever and you were Dean something else.”  _At least then we had different last names,_ Sam’s mind provides unhelpfully and he kicks the thought back hard. 

          “And that’s fine,” Dean huffs, “That’s just freakin’ great.  Doesn’t change the fact that now, I know what _that_ feels like.” Sam choked a little.  _Oh duh.  Ooh crap._ He digs his palms into his forehead. 

          “That was…” Sam mutters to himself, thinking it through. 

          “ _Yeah_ that was a first for me!”  Dean’s shouting now.  “Lotta firsts for me.  When’s the last time you looked at a dude twice?”  Sam looked away, sitting himself on the other bed and pretending the question was rhetorical.   “Really?”  Dean’s lost some of his edge now, and he’s watching Sam.  “Seriously?  Since when?”  Sam sighs, glancing past Dean’s ear to avoid seeing the look on his face.

          “I don’t know.  College?  High school?  I had a couple of friends.”  Dean’s watching him with open fascination. 

          “ _Who?”_ Dean asked, thinking about the few friends he’d seen Sam with over the years. 

         Sam, however, wasn’t about to discuss that part of his life.  “Look, Dean.  None of what…” _we did,_ he thought _…_ “What happened,” he corrected, “was a first.  And if I’d been in your position, none of that would have been a first either.  Okay?”  Sam was surprised by how defensive he felt and Dean crumpled a little beside him.

          “Yeah.  Wow.  I guess,” he muttered, looking at Sam seriously.  “I can’t believe I didn’t know.” 

          “Does it change anything?”  The question was barbed coming from Sam’s mouth and they both knew it.   
          “ _No._ Of course not.  Same as ever.” 

         Only, they weren’t the same as ever.  They couldn’t be, and with that knowledge Dean couldn’t help but see a Sam a little differently despite himself.  Once he knew, he could see it in Sam when he talked to people.  Where and when his eyes lingered.  And once he started, it was impossible to stop noticing. 

         Sam, for his part, tried to be more open about it.  It wasn’t easy, considering the wide berth they’d been giving each other as they worked to reestablish a rhythm hunting together, but if Dean was going through some kind of revelation, Sam wasn’t about to let Dean deal with it alone.  Sam could remember the first time he thought about other guys like that as a kid.  He’d felt so guilty he was sure that their dad would read it on his face.  John, to his knowledge, had never found out and Sam was grateful for that. 

         Their dad may have tolerated other people’s sexualities, but Sam had always gotten the impression that didn’t include his.  Other sexualities were fine for musicians and actors, but somehow Sam thought it would have been another point of contention between them.

 

                 Dean, for his part, tried to consider it rationally.  He’d never objected to that sort of thing, so long as _whoever_ did _whatever_ somewhere he wasn’t.  And as much as he hadn’t considered it in the past, the act itself had been surprisingly intuitive for him.  The pleasure, and there was pleasure in it, was simultaneously intense and deeply personal.  If Dean wanted to hate that part of himself that had enjoyed if not gotten lost in it, he’d simultaneously have to judge Sam for it.  He didn’t judge Sam.  He wasn’t disgusted by Sam.  If anything, this had just become another opened can of worms added to the stack that had started growing from the day their dad brought them into this fucked up life. 

 

         What Dean struggled most with was the change in his own identity.  He was a man, and a playboy all of his life and these things had defined him.  When he needed a break from Sam and hunting and trolled the bars, now it mattered a lot less which bars.  He settled himself at the counter and ordered a shot.  A couple in, he was comfortably buzzed, watching the way that the lights reflected off the glass of his cup.  The bar was in the worse side of town so the shots had come cheap and fast.  Dean barely looked up when someone settled up to the bar beside him. 

         The man had cast a shadow over his glass and he could no longer chase the small spark of light across the shiny bar surface by twisting the glass in his hand.  Dean looked up.  He was tall.  Surprisingly so, but he had nice enough features.  The man, noticing Dean, smiled and ordered a second drink for him.  Dean accepted with a nod, offering his glass back to the bartender to be refilled. 

         Sam and Dean were in town hunting a witch who had cursed several young women in the town to tear their faces off with their fingernails.  At the home of the second victim, Sam had uncovered a hex bag nestled in the cushions of her couch.  It was early evening and Sam was searching through dusty public records looking for a connection between the three girls.  Sensing Dean’s agitation, Sam had sent him away so that he could concentrate. 

         The man was leaning over him, telling him something about where he worked and Dean nodded flatly, to avoid being totally rude to someone who’d just bought him a drink.  The man watched the line of Dean’s throat as he threw back the free shot. 

         “Am I boring you?” he asked, and Dean gave him a smile that had won over many girls over the years. 

         “If you bought me a drink because you want me to listen, I have to warn you.  I’m not a very good listener.”  Dean turned his glass over on the bar, tucking several bills under the rim to settle his tab.  As he turned to leave, the man caught his elbow in a gentle grip. 

         “Should I be asking what you are good at?” he asked.  Dean shrugged, letting the man follow him outside to his car. 

         Large hands felt comfortable enough on his hips as the man pressed him back against the Impala.  “God, you’re so hot,” he breathed, pressing in until Dean was boxed between him and the hard curved surface of his car.  Dean was loose and pliant, appreciating the hot pants of breath against his cheek as the man ran his hands along Dean’s sides.  “Can…” he breathed, grabbing the tight curve of Dean’s ass.  “Would you let me suck you off?” 

         It was dark by now and Dean looked around the parking lot.  Aside from a young couple stumbling back to their car it was empty.  Dean relaxed as the man fell to his knees.

 

         Sam was working back in the motel room, sleeves rolled up and his hair tucked behind his ears.  He watched Dean stumble a little into the room with a calm cheerful look on his face.  Sam sighed, a little disgusted by the chemical smell of alcohol and the heated smell of sex rolling off Dean’s skin.  He watched as Dean kicked the door shut before falling face first into his bed.  His feet were hanging off the side, still clad in dirty boots.  He was half asleep by the time Sam tugged them off and dragged a blanket off of his own bed to cover Dean as he laid on top of his own.  Sam’s hands were gentle as they brushed through his hair, rolling his head so he wouldn’t suffocate in his own vomit during the night.  It was the first time Sam had intentionally touched him in almost two months.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> This story is un-beta'd and I'm not sure how I feel about it. Please comment if you have any thoughts. Thanks for reading!


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